Vengeance of the Forsaken Mate

Freda's POV

Pain greeted me before my eyes even opened. A dull, aching throb in my head and a weight in my chest that made it hard to breathe. My body felt foreign, like it belonged to someone else, someone broken. The sterile scent of antiseptic and the faint hum of machines buzzed at the edge of my awareness, pulling me back to reality.

I forced my eyelids open, blinking against the harsh white light above me. The room was unfamiliar, its clean, minimalist design offering no comfort. My gaze landed on a woman standing nearby, her face soft but serious. She wore a uniform—a nurse.

“Where am I?” I croaked, my throat dry and raw.

The nurse’s eyes widened slightly, and she stepped closer, her movements careful. “You’re awake,” she said gently. “You’re in the Red Moon Pack’s medical wing. You’ve been unconscious for a long time.”

Red Moon Pack. The name sent a jolt through me, chasing away the fog in my mind. My heart raced as memories of the accident flooded back. The argument. The curve in the road. The car spinning out of control. Falling.

I gasped, my hand flying to my stomach. “My baby?”

The nurse’s expression softened. “Your baby is fine. You’re lucky—both of you are. Alpha Drake and his warriors found you at the bottom of the cliff and brought you here. You’ve been in a coma for a hundred days.”

A hundred days. My mind reeled, struggling to comprehend the enormity of what she was saying. Three months. I had been gone for three months, lost in the void while life went on without me.

“Drake?” I echoed, the name sticking in my throat. It couldn’t be.

The nurse nodded. “Yes. Alpha Drake Morgan. He’s the one who saved you.”

My stomach churned, a mix of disbelief and something sharper, more bitter. Drake Morgan, the man I had rejected as my mate, the one I had chosen Willard over, had been the one to find me? The irony was cruel.

As if summoned by my thoughts, the door to the room swung open, and there he was. Drake Morgan. His presence dominated the space, his tall frame and piercing eyes as commanding as I remembered. He stepped inside, his gaze locking onto mine.

“So, you’re finally awake,” he said, his voice low and clipped. There was no warmth, no relief, just the cold detachment of a man who had done his duty and nothing more.

I struggled to sit up, the effort sending sharp pain through my ribs. “Why?” The word escaped me in a rasp, barely audible.

Drake leaned against the wall, his arms crossing over his chest. “Why did I save you?” he asked, his tone almost mocking. “Maybe I have a soft spot for broken things.”

The sting of his words was immediate, but I bit back my retort. I had no strength for a battle of wits with him, not now. “I need to go back to my pack,” I said, forcing the words out despite the lump in my throat. “I can’t stay here.”

Drake’s expression hardened, his jaw tightening. “Go back?” He straightened, taking a step closer. “You think the Greystone Pack will welcome you with open arms after what happened?”

My stomach twisted. “What are you talking about?”

“They’ve moved on, Freda,” he said, his voice cold but steady. “Willard has moved on.”

His words cut deeper than I wanted to admit. I clenched my fists, trying to steady my trembling voice. “I have to go back. My life is there.”

“Your life?” Drake’s lips curved into a bitter smile. “The same life that led you to a car crash and left you for dead at the bottom of a cliff?” He shook his head. “You’re safer here.”

“Safe?” I snapped, anger flaring despite my weakness. “With you? The man who hates me?”

Drake’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “Hate you?” he repeated, his voice quieter now, almost dangerous. “Don’t flatter yourself, Freda. Saving you was an act of decency, not affection.”

The tension between us crackled like a storm, but I couldn’t afford to dwell on it. My priority was my child and finding my way back to the life I had left behind, no matter how fractured it was.

“Thank you for saving me,” I said, forcing the words past my pride. “But I can’t stay here. I have to leave.”

Drake stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he stepped aside, gesturing toward the door. “Do whatever you want. It’s not my place to stop you.”

His indifference stung, but I pushed it aside, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. My body protested every movement, but I forced myself to stand. The nurse rushed to my side, her hands hovering as if she wanted to help but didn’t dare.

“You’re not ready to leave,” she said, worry etched across her face.

“I don’t have a choice,” I replied, my voice firmer than I felt.

I took a shaky step forward, then another. Each one felt like a victory, a step closer to reclaiming what I had lost. But as I reached the doorway, Drake’s voice stopped me.

“You’ll regret going back,” he said, his tone colder than ever. “They won’t want you. Not after everything.”

I didn’t turn around. “That’s for me to find out.”

As I crossed the threshold, Drake’s final words followed me, lingering like a warning: “You don’t know the half of what you’re walking into.”